A Shot in the Dark
by Jedi Sapphire
Summary: Baralin has only recently joined the Palace Guard, and is uncertain how he feels about the Prince of the Woodland Realm.


**Disclaimer: **Everything belongs to the Professor.

**Author's Note: **This is a New Year present for Melethril, who wanted third-person PoV from a member of the guard. I hope you like this, hon!

And due warning – there is no plot. Absolutely not a trace.

**Summary: **Baralin has only recently joined the Palace Guard, and is uncertain how he feels about the Prince of the Woodland Realm.

* * *

**A Shot in the Dark**

Baralin heard the sound of footsteps and laughter, and just refrained from rolling his eyes. The prince, no doubt, and some of his friends.

Baralin had been a warrior of the Southern Guard for most of his life, and he would have been a warrior of the Southern Guard still had it not been for Lalveth. The _elleth _was one of the few who lived in one of the outlying settlements.

Or, at any rate, she _had _lived in one of the outlying settlements until the growing threat of attack had made her return to the stronghold. Baralin, who was courting her, had had himself transferred to the Palace Guard. He did not quite like the change in his duties – after the hustle and activity of the border, the relative peace of the stronghold sometimes grated on his nerves. And he spent at least half his time _in _the mountain.

Baralin grimaced. Elves, he was convinced, were not meant to live in mountains like Dwarves. He almost – _almost _– sympathized with the prince's deplorable habit of slipping out at all hours.

In fairness, Baralin could not see that Legolas shirked his duties. He certainly trained relentlessly, and if he sometimes used patrols as an excuse to avoid meetings of the King's Council, who could blame him?

And yet…

The guard schooled his face into expressionlessness when he saw the prince and two of his friends approach.

Legolas, as always, had a merry smile for him, though he did not stop to speak on his way into the King's council chamber. Just as well, Baralin thought sourly; he was already late.

His companions did stop outside the room. Eredhion and Voronwë, Legolas' personal guards. Baralin looked at them with interest. They did not make a habit of accompanying him everywhere he went, so he presumed that they had been together for some other purpose. Perhaps they had been on patrol.

Baralin, in all honesty, had not quite understood what the duties of the prince's guards were. In the few weeks he had served in the stronghold, they had made no attempt to prevent him either from leading his archers into the most dangerous parts of the forest or from joining his friends in merrymaking by the river on starlit nights. Much of the time they appeared not to know or care where he was. And then all of a sudden they would decide to be his shadows for a few days, looming over him even when he was with his closest friends.

They nodded at Baralin now, but neither of them initiated any conversation.

Perhaps, he thought belatedly, his scowl had been a little _too _pronounced.

"Have you been out today?" he asked, in an attempt at friendliness.

After all, he had to work closely with the Royal Guard. He might as well get along with the two of its members whom the King trusted with his son's safety.

Eredhion smiled. "Legolas was out, but we had other tasks."

He did not elaborate, and Baralin did not like to ask. He cast about for a subject, and finally said, "Will you go to the archery tests tonight?"

"Perhaps towards the end," Voronwë responded. "Once all the novice rounds are done. If we are lucky, we will be able to talk Legolas and Saeldur into a demonstration."

"Voronwë's sporting spirit has been roused," Eredhion explained. "Once the novice rounds are done, there will be wagers laid on the performances of the more experienced archers. You should come. Even if you do not like to gamble, the archery is well worth watching."

"It is merely my duty," Voronwë said with dignity, "to show how much faith I have in the marksmanship of my prince."

"And if that duty should lead to you going home considerably richer," Eredhion said wryly, "it is no fault of yours."

He and Voronwë went away soon afterwards, and Baralin was left to stand guard until the council ended.

Having little else to do that night, and hoping to make friends with more of the guards, he made his way to the archery ranges.

The tests were held every six months, mainly to provide an outlet for the archers to show off to each other, to the archery masters and to their commanding officers. It was usually a cheerful night, with most of the population of the stronghold turning out to watch, comment and wager.

Baralin went to the edge of the nearest range, and soon found himself speaking to two of Legolas' archers. They were waiting; the Colhador would be the last to take the field.

They discussed the performances of the other archers as they watched. Bar the occasional unpleasant remark about someone they personally disliked, for the most part the commentary was good-natured. Even so, they were taking particular care that none of their commanding officers overheard them.

Baralin looked around. The glint of moonlight on a golden head showed him where Legolas was standing, at the other end of the long row of archery ranges. He was speaking to two of his captains – Baralin had not yet learnt their names.

"Legolas will be here to watch us," one of the archers beside him – Húrphen, Baralin though – said, as though reading his mind. "He always is."

"That almost makes it worse," added the other. "Legolas has… high standards."

"And he expects them to be met."

"He is just like his father in some ways. Perhaps Legolas has less of a temper…"

Húrphen snorted. "Never believe it. Legolas can simply channel his temper."

"The prince must be a difficult commander," Baralin commented.

He was instantly fixed by two appalled stares, as though he had confessed to stealing one of the Silmarils.

"Who _told _you such a thing?" Húrphen whispered.

"Was it Arahael?" demanded his friend. "The misbegotten goblin is always making trouble. If he has been going around telling people –"

"_Never _believe a word Arahael says, especially about Legolas."

Baralin was bewildered.

His bewilderment continued through the night. Húrphen and his friend chattered to each other and to him, launching into long descriptions of Legolas' exacting standards, his low tolerance for slacking, and how displeased he would be if one of _them _took five minutes to line up a shot like that hamfisted idiot Triwath.

It was clear that however much they complained about how much they were made to train, they were both completely, almost fiercely loyal to Legolas. It made little sense.

When the last of the archers of the Home Guard had picked up her arrows and gone off, it was time for the Colhador to take the field. Baralin sensed the change in atmosphere. A palpable air of competitiveness descended on the gathering, archers and spectators alike, as the first archers walked on. The targets were dragged out further, so that even Elven eyes could barely see the tiny centre dots in the darkness.

Money and trinkets changed hands as the archers fired. There were no missed shots now; each arrow thudded into its target dead centre, sometimes splitting the one that had gone before it. The wagers could not possibly be based on accuracy; Baralin had a feeling the watchers were betting on how long it would take the participants to fire twelve shots.

After the first group had finished, Húrphen and his friend shouldered their quivers. About to step onto the range, Húrphen turned to Baralin and said, "You have not taken the field today."

"I am not an archer," Baralin replied in alarm. Nobody had told him he would be required to participate.

"What of it? There is nothing at stake. And although we go last, it is not actually forbidden for others to take the field with us. They simply choose not to."

_And with good reason_, Baralin thought.

His protest was ignored, and ten minutes later he found himself standing next to Húrphen, wondering how he had let himself be persuaded, not just to demonstrate his skill with the bow, but to demonstrate it among a group of the finest archers of the realm.

He wondered how many Elves had wagered that he would come in last.

He turned to ask Húrphen that; but Aeroniel, who was supervising, gave the order to begin.

Hand on the bowstring, Baralin hesitated. He had never been much of an archer. The sword was his weapon, and he knew he wielded it well. If only this had been a test of the blade…

But the others had already fired their first volley and were preparing to loose the second. There were expectant eyes on him. It was too late to change his mind.

He drew, aimed and released.

He hit the target – he was an Elf, after all, not a Dwarven crossbowman – but the arrow struck the second ring outside the centre. It was not a bad shot at that distance. Normally he would have been satisfied with it, but after watching Legolas' archers group their arrows perfectly in the centre of each target, it brought a flush to his cheeks.

He was the last to finish, and although he had managed a decent grouping, with two arrows striking dead centre, it was nothing like the pinpoint accuracy the others had achieved.

Húrphen saw his blush and laughed, though not unkindly, and clapped him on the shoulder. "Do not look so distressed. You are a fair shot for one who claims not to be a bowman."

"Indeed," said another voice, and Baralin turned to see Legolas leaning on the fence watching.

He felt the colour in his face deepen, and was thankful for the darkness. Legolas either did not notice his embarrassment or decided to ignore it. He vaulted over the fence and came up to them.

"Well?" Húrphen demanded.

Legolas looked amused. "Yes, you did well, Húrphen."

Húrphen's answering smile was pure delight. "So the next time Lord Saeldur assigns me extra training…" he said wheedlingly.

Legolas laughed outright. "You will do it, because if your aim deteriorates enough that it is brought to my attention and not Saeldur's, you will not like the training I assign you."

Despite the words, his tone was teasing, and Húrphen's smile only widened as he bowed formally and stepped away.

Legolas turned to Baralin next, and he very nearly took a step back.

The prince raised his eyebrows. "What have they been telling you about me? I promise I do not bite."

"No, he does not," Húrphen called from the fence. "He only shakes his head and looks disappointed. That is far worse. You should be grateful you are not an archer, Baralin."

"That will do," Legolas said, though he still sounded more amused than angry. "And you have no cause for shame, Baralin. That was certainly a better shot than I would expect from anyone other than –"

"Your archers," Húrphen said. Then he caught Legolas' eye and grinned. "Your archers are the finest in Middle-earth, and I think I had best leave before I find myself on night patrols for the next ten years. It was a pleasure to speak to you, Baralin. Remember to watch Legolas and Saeldur's final demonstration before you go. I would not miss it for a huge pile of gold." He vaulted over the fence and was lost in the crowd.

With a nod of farewell, Legolas turned away, but before he could take a step, Baralin said suddenly, "Will you show me?" Legolas glanced back at him. "Show me how to…" He gestured at the target. "I know I cannot learn much in a single lesson, much less under such circumstances as these, but if there is anything…"

Legolas looked startled, but he nodded. "Of course."

Baralin relaxed, setting his feet in the stance Legolas showed him and trying to keep his hands steady as they raised the bow.

The crowd had gone silent around him. The only sound was Legolas' murmured instructions. Then he was silent as well, and there was the tiny _snick _as Baralin released and the arrow soared through the expectant hush –

Baralin did not wait to see it strike. He looked, instead, at Legolas.

"I could not bear to see the results of my earliest attempts at shooting at targets, either," Legolas said lightly. "Shall I fetch the arrow for you?"

For the first time since coming to Thranduil's mountain stronghold, something other than Lalveth's presence brought a genuine smile to Baralin's face.

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